Roaming
by Sakura123
Summary: Lancelot's got Restless Leg Syndrome. A condition that isn't supposed to exist yet. Post Battle of Bandon Hill. AU. One Shot.


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Roaming (King Arthur)

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Author: Sakura123  
Rating: K+  
Genre: Drama  
**Summary**: _Lancelot's got **Restless Leg Syndrome**. A condition that isn't supposed to exist yet. Post Battle of Bandon Hill. AU. One Shot_  
**Author's note**: This is my first _King Arthur _fanfiction ever written and it was written out of the _very wide BLUE_ so you'll forgive me if its a bit iffy in some places, like characterization and personality. This has been bothering me since I watched the movie for the third time. The Beginning is a little strange too.  
**Written: 8-13-06/Finished: 8-14-06, 1:51 am.**

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_**A**rthur (Atorius) Castus_.

Former Commander and friend of several Sarmatian warriors bred to do Rome's bidding. Now King.

Lancelot's friend. Granted an unwilling comrade in the beginning, but his friend for eternity.

Or was he better known as King Arthur of all Britain, over "friend" now? He wondered. Lancelot wasn't sure what to call him nowadays. Yes, Arthur was now their king and Guinevere made his Queen. He governed the country with his poetic words and his mighty sword Excalibur, he whispered sweet nothings in Guinevere's ears and she would giggle like a girl. Lancelot didn't mind anymore, his love for the Woad princess had diminished the day after she and Arthur wed, ironically. There was no point in chasing one which you cannot obtain. Lancelot went on with life as a Knight of a nearly empty round table. His friendship with Arthur remained strong as ever but the two had become distant in the years after 467 A.D. Battles went by in a blur, the same with life.

Arthur often inquired if there was anything wrong, but Lancelot's mind had been far too muddled to care or to answer. In the passing weeks of August, Lancelot's mood-swings quickly developed from broody to full fludged depressions. Partly because of an emotion he had yet (or wanted) to name and partly because of the death of his two comrades haunted him still. The death of Tristian and Dagonet hung heavy in his comrades minds, though the remaining warriors did their best to move on with their lives. Bors took care of his family, Lancelot had retained his position of second in command for some time before he was promoted to commander of Arthur's army.

Gawain was made second in command. Galahad had decided that life in Britain was simply not for him and so he left for home, or at least the memory of home. Lancelot didn't hold the young man's decision against him, he couldn't. Galahad had done what the six of them dreamed of doing since their youth. Lancelot wished him good luck on his journey. Bors, however, was a bit put off by the fact that Galahad hadn't stopped to at least allow Bors to bid him farewell. "His leaving was hardly a '_good-bye'_ old friend. Galahad will return one day," Gawain interjected on night during one of Bors' ranting and raving. Bors shut his trap immediately afterward drowning his anger in countless mugs of ale.

Lancelot drank himself stupid as well. He so intoxicated that he didn't remember climbing the stairs of Hadrian's Wall, wailing incoherrent songs and proceeding to sleep afterward. He awoke with a terrible headache and a sore throat just as bad. On Guinevere's orders -- much to his dismay -- he was put on bed rest for six weeks until he was over sickness that had been spreading around. Lancelot was on his feet a week before the sixth week mark and itching to do something. Thus bringing us to his current's predicament.

There were no battles to be fought at the moment. Lancelot was a warrior, through and through so he felt completely useless in other tasks. Gawain was busy building a relationship with a girl Lancelot had introduced him to. Her name was Symone: A pretty little thing Lancelot unthinkingly befriended. He thought of courting her himself, however, Symone only had eyes for Gawain and so the their romance began to blossom into so much more. From there Lancelot felt as if he had been shoved out of Gawain's life, not completely, but enough to feel unwanted. Gawain would always tell him "I'm never too busy to be bothered by a friend, Lancelot," But the man didn't have the heart to barge in on his friend. Especially if he was _busy._ As for Bors, well, Lancelot didn't want to talk to Bors. So that only left Guinevere and Arthur. He found the two conversing with each other. Lancelot noted how close they were as he strolled out the chilly halls into the hall of the round table.

He leaned against the wall just watching the two speak to each other in hushed voices their hands laying atop the smooth surface of the table, intertwined. They looked happy, Arthur looked happy; happier than he had in their so-called remaining years of service. Guinevere looked stunning; Her body draped in a weightless dress wrapped around her waist cascaded around her legs, the top was strapless and pressed tight against her chest for support. Her brunette hair was piled on top of her head in a strange mess that could only look graceful on her. The crown sparkled in the firelight. Crowns, he wondered why Kings and Queens wore the bloody things.

". . . you, Lancelot?" Arthur's voice broke through Lancelot's train of thought, the curly haired man refocused his vision on the man and woman across from him. "Yes, Arthur?" He answered robotically. Arthur removed his hands from Guinevere's and approached his friend at a steady pace closing the gap between them. Lancelot felt awkward Arthur's presence. Arthur clasped Lancelot's shoulder a good-natured grin spreading on his lips. "You seem troubled, friend. Is there something the matter?" Arthur asked. Lancelot paused before answering, his eyes unconsciously wandered to Guinevere who's placid expression and pouted lips caused him to look away just as fast.

He refocused his attention on Arthur once more. "N-no, there's nothing wrong. I was just on a walk and decided to come here to think. I was just on my way out when . . .," Lancelot trailed off not sure how to finish his sentence. Arthur nodded his face never betraying to the fact that he knew Lancelot was lying. He noticed Lancelot standing in the same place for two minutes before he actually started calling to him. Proof that he wasn't just about to leave. Lancelot was a terrible liar. "Do you two need a moment? I can leave if you wish," Guinevere offered, her voice startling both men. Lancelot leaned past Arthur and sent a forced smile in her direction. "No, not at all my Queen. I was just leaving," Lancelot backed away feeling Arthur's hand slip from his shoulder.

Guinevere kept the irritation welling inside her chest at bay, Lancelot hardly called her by her name anymore. It was always _"M'lady"_ or _"Queen,"_ if the other phrase was used too much. It was rare that he ever called her Guinevere, and if he did it was by mistake. Guinevere felt a pang of resentment toward Lancelot whenever he called her by such lordly titles. _I also find myself missing his presence around me. More and more,_ she found herself thinking. Arthur watched as his friend strode out of the room without another word spoken to either of them, his brow creased as Lancelot's footfalls became distant echoes in the hall. Guinevere hurried over to him her hand was in his in an instant, the other against his face. Arthur turned his head willingly toward his lover his eyes full of concern, but not for her. "He's been like this for too long, Guinevere. Something is bothering him, and he won't tell me," Arthur mused. Guinevere rested her head upon his chest staring blankly ahead. "I've given him plenty of chances to come to me with his problem. I fear if I don't say something now he'll be too far gone."

Guinevere gave a short, humorless laugh. "You speak as if he were dying, Arthur," She answered quietly. Arthur ignored her comment partly, unable to fight down the sense of approaching dread.

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_**L**ancelot was dying._ In the dead of night, he realized this simple but deadly notion. Lancelot was dying of a lack of purpose and suffocation. Standing at the top of Hadrian's Wall he stared up at the cloudless sky. The grassy plains were gone from sight, enshrouded in darkness. The cool summer air brushed against his face, his curls barely moved in command to the wind. Unconsciously Lancelot rubbed his chest where the scar of the arrow head remained as a constant reminder of a near death experience. Lancelot tried his hardest not to think about that battle unless it was brought up or his hand brushed across his bare chest after bathing, which could hardly be called _'hardly thinking about it'_ but Lancelot lived in a little place called denial. There was no harm in lying to himself. Above him the stars twinkled like diamonds strewn across a blue blanket, dampened with mist. As he watched them he remembered his family, his sister and the trinket she had given him. He had it hanging from his neck on a worn leather rope from his saddle. There was no denying it now. Ever since Galahad had rode away from the wall headed for home, Lancelot had been feeling the emotion building up inside of him, threatening to burst from his chest if he concealed it any longer.

Lancelot wanted to leave as his young comrade did. Lancelot wanted to _roam._ There, he had said it and already he could feel excitement pounding in his throbbing heart. The life of a warrior barely satisfied him now, he took no pleasure in killing enemies any longer. _I don't want to fight anymore, I don't want this life. I need something more._ Letting out a shuddering breath he pushed away from the cold stone wall, he hurried down the stairs. He landed on the ground with a silent thump, he started to walk briskly across the hay covered ground not caring if anyone saw him. Lancelot entered the stables at a slower pace so as not to spook the horses, he came up to the stable where his horse was currently resting his eyes.

Lancelot released a soothing whistle that caused the black horse to jerk its head in the direction the whistle was coming from. The horse brought itself to full awareness when Lancelot placed a hand on his nose. "There, there, girl. I've finally made up my mind," He whispered. The horse nudged its owner as if to congratulate him. Lancelot rubbed the horse's nose still with a sad smile on his face. "Of course, that would mean I'd be leaving friends, my brothers behind. Accustomed life itself! Arthur would be sad--" The horse huffed in agreement, "--but he would learn to move on. His life is here now, I just don't belong in this world anymore. I've lost all sense of direction and I wish to find it out there in the world somewhere, if ever," Lancelot stared down at his hands thoughtfully, becoming lost in 'what ifs' and 'maybes'. Slowly he opened the door of his horse's confinement and walked the creature out into the open. The horse nudged Lancelot in thanks before heading over where the saddles were kept.

"Is this what's been bothering you, Lancelot?" Lancelot spun around quickly grabbing ths dagger hanging at his side. Arthur stepped out of the shadows of the stable, an indescribable emotion contorted on his features. Lancelot lowered the weapon he had raised on impulse at the sight of Arthur, his heart continued to thud against his chest like a horse dashing across the wide open plains of his homeland. He gave Arthur a reprimanding look. "You shouldn't sneak up me like that," He growled. Arthur's face remained impassive his eyes expressed fury and hurt. "And you should've told me about this," Arthur countered. Lancelot swallowed roughly against a lump in his throat, he looked away feeling his face burn with anger and embarrassment at being found out by the one man he trusted with his life.

_I will die in battle. Of that I am certain._ The memory of their heated conversation made its presence known in both their minds. "I was planning on telling you eventually," Lancelot offered lamely. Arthur scoffed. "And that was when? Before or after you left?" He said. Lancelot again said nothing in his defense. He really hadn't planned on telling anyone, he just planned on leaving, deciding on whether or not a note would be the best thing to leave behind. Lancelot finally looked up from the ground at his friend, Arthur stared back the fury in his eyes dissipating, replaced by pleading.

"Lancelot you cannot do this. I implore you, you must stay," Arthur insisted.

"I cannot Arthur. If I spend one more moment here, I will go mad. There is nothing here for me anymore," Lancelot rebuked, sounding offended.

"How can you say that? How can you say that _you have nothing_ _here?_" Arthur continued angrily. Lancelot watched the man now pacing up and down the stable pathway trying his hardest not to lash out at anything near him. Lancelot sighed scratching his jawline. "Arthur, have you been so blind as not to see it yourself? I have been reduced to nothing but a tool for winning battles. I have no life beyond the fighting, unlike Bors, Gawain, Galahad and yourself. I ride into battle and return with nothing to look forward to. Nothing to greet me but the very same walls that I've strived to escape since being dragged to this forsaken island . . ." Arthur opened his mouth to interject but Lancelot raised his voice. ". . .And now, to have the freedom I so rightly deserve, I wish to leave this place. Yes, my comment was not entirely true. I have you, Bors, Gawain, and Guinevere here, but all of you alone isn't enough," Lancelot exhaled shakily.

Arthur watched as Lancelot scrubbed the side of his face furiously trying to ward of any kind of emotion that would overwhelm him and cloud his determination. This was no halfcocked planned thought up at the last moment, no, Lancelot had been agaonizing over this decision for quiet some time now. The distant looks, the blank stares and the strange bouts of depression explained it all. Beyond his ties to his comrades Lancelot no longer felt tethered down by Hadrian's Wall. There was no Roman presence threatening to impose fear of death upon him, no pact made between his people or the Romans keeping his soul tied at Arthur's side. Lancelot was a free man, free to roam wherever he wished. Whether or not he realized to realize this was not Lancelot's problem, this was something Arthur would have to come to grips with.

"Arthur, _please_. Don't ask me to stay," Lancelot whispered, his eyes pleading. The king lowered his head in submission. "Very well. I cannot keep you here, even if I tried," Arthur said a low voice. Lancelot tried not to look surprised as his rebuke to what he had expected Arthur to say died upon his tongue. He swallowed roughly trying not to sputter. Arthur looked up at him with a knowing smile, a sad one, but a smile nonetheless. "You are free now. Free to go wherever you choose."

There was no need for spoken thanks between the two men. Lancelot embraced his comrade for what he hoped would not be the last time. He departed from the stables and hurried back into the confinements of the castle in which Arthur and his knights resided. He took only what he needed from his bedroom then returned to the stables with his cloak on his shoulders and necessities in hand. Arthur watched as Lancelot walked his horse out of the stables toward a more secluded exit within the walls. There were hardly any men posted around this area so it made his leave much easier. Arthur followed him to the back entrance of the wall used to smuggle women and children out if the wall were ever taken by an enemy. He stopped at the revealed door way concealed by the clever camouflage technique. It resembled the stone walls perfectly. Lancelot climbed up onto his horse, his hands gripped the reins like they were a lifeline. His eyes wandered what he could see of the environment briefly. Leaning forward Lancelot nudging his horse's side hard. The four legged beast thundered down the hidden path.

As Lancelot headed into the unknown, he never looked back.

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_Fin._


End file.
